


450 Years

by Smooty



Series: 2doc Mature One-Shots [1]
Category: Gorillaz
Genre: 2doc - Freeform, Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Psychosis, no real romance here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-31 22:06:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17857832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smooty/pseuds/Smooty
Summary: It takes 450 years for plastic to decompose





	450 Years

It stank to high heaven on the shores of Plastic Beach. Some horrible mixture of garbage, seawater, and spraypaint all roasting in the sun and mixing with the smell of dead fish. Even he’d noticed the smell, which was surprising given the bashed-in state of his nose. Within the first week, he’d given up getting rid of the smell and accepted it, though he still occasionally felt a pang of jealousy at Cyborgs lack of olfactory senses.

To be honest, the smell was the least of his worries. If he was being honest, he wasn’t 100% sure where he got this island from, or how he’d gotten there. The past few months had been a blur, and he’d either been too high or too drunk to remember most of what happened. Now, 6 months on, he didn’t think it really mattered.

Because Murdoc? Murdoc deserved to be isolated out here, in the middle of nowhere. He deserved the be hunted by pirates and Boogieman, to be forgotten on his own garbage-pile prison. As every day passed, each one blending into the next in a haze of hallucinations and drugs, he never forgot why he deserved to be there. He reminded himself at every opportunity, that he deserved to die, that he was awful that she--

That it should have been him. 

In a blink, a year had passed, and he celebrated by trying to jump off the pretty pink balcony of his bedroom. Cyborg stopped him, of course. She was programmed to protect him, even from himself. She must have been the one ordering all the supplies as well because no matter how much Murdoc drank, there was always more. Never enough. 

It’d been a shock when 2D showed up in that suitcase. To be honest, he wasn’t actually sure if he’d kidnapped the singer or if someone else had. Having someone else around revived him enough to think about other things. The line between reality and fiction began to blur and before he knew it he was writing an album, forcing the singer to perform with Murdoc’s fucked up copy of their bandmate. 

It was one day like this when Murdoc had let 2D up from the basement--just to stop him crying, the singer’s crying was echoing through the building and worming into his brain--that the bassist well and truly snapped. They were sitting in the studio, 2D spinning round and round in a chair, Murdoc plucking nonsense on his bass when Stu had come to a halt right in front of him. 

“Eh Murdoc,” he started, his twangy voice grating against Murdoc’s raw nerves. He grunted in response, stopping his strumming but not looking up. He didn’t like looking up at either of them anymore, didn’t like the way their eyes made him feel. “What’d’you think about takin’ a trip, jus’ t’get off the island for a lil’ bit?”

Again, Murdoc grunted in reply. The singer continued. “I-I was jus’ thinkin’ we’ve been workin’ so hard a-and there haven’t been any helicopters for ages an--” Murdoc dropped his bass to the floor suddenly, startling the other. “O-or not! I-it’s fine!”

2D cowered in the chair, his fingers nervously tapping against one-another. Murdoc stood stock-still, his fists clenched, breathing rapidly. “You wanna leave?” His voice was deadly calm, masking the inner rage boiling away. He made a decision. The singer nodded but didn’t dare speak. 

“Right, up you get then,” Murdoc said, jumping to his feet and striding out of the room. 2D clambered behind him, worried but also excited at the chance to finally get off this rotten hunk of garbage.

Murdoc led them through the building and out into the sunny walkway. The singer skipped happily out the door and into the sunshine; he hadn’t been outside in so long and the warmth on his skin was heavenly. He didn’t have time to bask long, Murdoc was already down the path and near the dock where his submarine was floating. In seconds he’d unlocked the hatch and jump in, leaving the singer to dash clumsily to catch up. 

“Sit down, strrrrrrap in, Dents,” the bassist exclaimed, wasting no time in getting things started. A strange, manic glint shone in his eye, his movements just a little too quick to be regular. 2D didn’t notice, too busy planning his vacation away from Plastic Beach. 

Within minutes they were jetting off, leaving a trail of bubbles behind them. Where he’d usually be too scared, this time 2D was staring out the porthole, watching the pink plastic get further and further away. By the time it was out of sight and he turned back to the bassist he realized he had no idea where they were going. A quick glance into the back seat also told him they’d managed to leave Cyborg behind.

“So uh, where we goin’ then Muds?” he asked, suddenly feeling significantly more nervous. The Satanist didn’t answer, his gaze level and unwaveringly focused on the deep blue emptiness in front of them. “Murdoc?”

They sat in silence, 2D getting more and more antsy with each passing minute. Each creek and moan of the sub made him jump and whimper. Eventually, he couldn’t take it, and he ducked down in his seat, mask over his face, eyes covered. 

“What’s your problem, then?” Murdoc growled, spooking the younger even more. He reached out a hand, still looking forward, and yanked the mask off, tossing it in the back. “Can’t stand that stupid thing!”

S-s-sorry Murdoc!” the singer cried, shaking. Murdoc grunted before pressing a few buttons, stopping the submarine. Suddenly, it was very, very quiet. “Why’d you stop?”

Murdoc leaned back, both hands behind his head, and let out a sigh. “Because,” he reached under the seat and pulled out an unmarked bottle of liquor “we’re almos’ outta gas. Need gas for life support.”

2D blanched. “O-outta gas? Whaddaya mean outta gas!? How’re we gonna get home?”

Murdoc shrugged. “Dunno, mate. You’re the one of wanted a vacation.” The singer stared at him, completely gobsmacked.

“It’s not my fault! How was I supposed to know we didn’t have enough gas!” He let his head fall in his hands. “We’re gonna die out here, we’re gonna drown.”

“Actually, we’ll probably suffocate first. Or get crushed to death by the pressure when the sub sinks,” Murdoc added casually, popping the cork on the bottle and taking a pull. 

Eyes wide with fear, 2D turned on the bassist, fists clenched. “This is all your fault! You’re killing us both!”

Again, Murdoc was quiet. He still hadn’t looked at the singer properly since they’d left. He watched as Stu frantically pressed buttons and pulled levers on the dash; it was no use. The key was stashed away in the bassists pocket, and the sub wouldn’t do a thing without it. 

“Why’re you doin’ this?” 2D moaned, ending his futile button-smashing in favour of curling up in his seat. Murdoc sighed loudly, and nudged the bottle against his shoulder. 

“Aren’t you tired, D?” he asked. 2D took the bottle none too gently and drank. “It’d be easier, this way, gettin’ drunk and sinkin’.”

2D coughed at the bitter burn of the low-grade alcohol. “I don’t wanna die! I wanna go home to Russel an’ Noo--”

Before he could finish her name, Murdoc stood looming over him, fist raised. The singer coward, expecting the blow. When it didn’t come, he spared a glance up at his would-be attacker. Murdoc was still looming, but his hand was limp at his side.

“You and me, Stu, we’re connected. It’s like one of those stupid teen novels yeah?” The singer watched him pace back into the body of the sub, swinging the bottle wildly. “If one of us goes, we both gotta go, so why not jus’ get it over with? Why wait it out when the whole world’s gone to shit?”

“What the bloody fuck are you on about?” 2D spat back at him. “You’re out of your fuckin’ mind!”

Murdoc was obviously frustrated that the younger man didn’t understand. It was so obvious, and he almost couldn’t believe 2D was  _ that  _ thick. “Don’t you feel it? It brough’ you to this island, in that suitcase!”

“That was some freak in a gas mask,” 2D snapped. “Probably one of your friends.”

Murdoc rounded on him, finger raised. “Then you’ve seen him too! Fuck, I thought I’d  _ really _ lost it.”

That confirmed it. 2D had been suspicious before, given Murdoc’s erratic and downright nonsensical, but now he knew for sure. “You haven’t been takin’ your medication, have you?”

“What are you on about? I’m fine.” Murdoc gestured wildly with the bottle, splashing liquid everywhere. 2D shook his head sadly. 

“You think drowin’ us in the middle of the ocean is ‘fine’?” he asked. Nothing he said was going to make any difference, he remembered how Murdoc was before the meds and knew that the man was probably completely detached from reality. “Nevermind. I’m going to look for some spare fuel in the back. Jus’ don’t… do anything else ok?”

Murdoc turned on him, face snarling in sudden anger. “Don’t fuckin’ tell me my own business! I’m in charge here!”

“S-sorry!” 2D yelped. Murdoc seemed to pause for a moment, before deciding pummeling the younger into a pulp wasn’t worth it. He sat on one of the cots with his booze, content to spend the last few hours of his life drinking. Stu was still determined to find a way out, and he quietly made his way back to the storage area. 

After an hour of searching, he’d found nothing useful. A lot of the stuff was junk, spare bits of wires and empty bottles. With fear bubbling sharp and violent in his chest 2D sank to the floor, defeated. “We’re really gonna die.”

“Quit your whinin’, everybody dies,” Murdoc grumbled. He’d been quiet as Stu searched, obviously uninterested in saving them. 

“I’m only in my 30’s, I don’t wanna die yet!” the singer cried. Tears began to run down his face.

With a grunt, Murdoc sat up and wobbled over to where the singer was sitting. He sat beside him heavily, offering the bottle again. “Dyin’s not so bad, Stu.”

“How would you know? You aren’t dead,” 2D moaned, taking bigger and bigger gulps from the bottle. Murdoc laughed bitterly and relaxed against the cold metal wall.

“Might as well be,” he mumbled. 2D looked at him warily, noting the dark bags under his eyes, and the gauntness of his cheeks. The bassist really did look sick, how had he not noticed before?

“Whaddaya mean?”

Murdoc sighed. “I’ve been alive a long time, longer than I think I know about,” the older answered. He could feel the emptiness in his chest aching. “I know I can be a right bastard, but it’s all been about me, you know?”

2D shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about Murdocc. You’re completely mad.”

“You’re probably right,” he agreed. They sat like that, a few inches apart, sharing the bottle until it was empty. “D’you remember… Jamaica?”

2D let out a short laugh. “How could I not? We were so drunk the entire time, it was great.”

“What about that night… the one after Noodle and Russ went back?”

2D thought back through the haze of alcohol. Russel had taken Noodle home once they’d both gotten tired of the constant partying, but 2D and Murdoc had stayed behind. The two of them had always been a bit more wild than Russel, not to mention Noodle was still just a kid. He tried to bring up a clear memory of the days after when it’d been them two alone. It was all a blur. 

“Nothin’s really comin’ to mind, no.” Murdoc looked disappointed, if not a little upset. 

“Figures,” he sighed. “I always assumed you forgot.”

A niggling voice in the back of 2D’s head made him stop drinking, and think really hard. “I-I remember when you fell outta that tree, and then nothin’ until we were on the plane back home.”

Murdoc sniffed. “S’probably for the best. Dunno how I remember any of it either.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” 2D asked, his suspicions growing, The more he thought about it, the clearer things were getting, like pulling back the curtains on a hidden painting. A dark room, hands, lips on his. 

“We weren’t  _ that _ drunk, at the time, you know,” Murdoc said firmly. “Forget I said anythin’, it won’t matter soon anyways.”

A warm body pressed against his, whispered words and bright pleasure. “Are you sayin’ what I think you’re sayin? That we…”

“Snogged, yeah. Tossed each other off a few times” Murdoc confirmed. 2D felt his stomach flip.

“Why are you tellin’ me this now? Why not before?”

Murdoc rolled the empty bottle between his hands, watching the tiny drops inside roll down the glass. “Cause it makes sense. We’re quite the pair, you and I.”

“I still have no idea what you’re on about. We snogged nearly a decade ago and now you’re keepin’ me hostage on a plastic island and drownin’ us in the ocean?” None of this was making sense, but what else could he expect? Murdoc was irrational and off his medication, there was no rhyme or reason for his actions.

“It. Makes. Sense,” Murdoc growled, gripping the bottle tight. “We’re meant to be together, Stu, in one way or another. This is jus’ the last step.”

“Murdoc,” the singer began, voice shaky, “you’re not well. You don’t need to do this.”

But he knew it was too late. They had no way of getting back to land, or even to Plastic Beach. It’d take a miracle to save them. 

“I’m sorry,” the bassist said suddenly standing and pacing again. “It’s a shame to deprive the world of such a beautiful creature. But it’s the only way.”

“The only way to  _ what?” _ 2D asked, voice trembling with both fear and anger. “You haven’t even fuckin’ asked me what I--”

“ _ You would have said no! _ ” Murdoc snarled, spit flying from his lips. “Of course you would--”

“How do  _ you _ know?” 2D shouted tearfully. “Instead of askin’ me y-you dragged me to this stupid island an’ n-now you’re tryin’ t’drown me!”

Murdoc slowed at that. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. You don’t know--”

“Try. Me.” The look in 2D’s eyes was both hard and afraid. “We don’t have anythin’ else to do, except w-wait to die anyway.”

Murdoc sat heavily in the captain's seat, one leg swung over the arm. “I knew the first time I laid eyes on ya, not while you were in a c-coma mind, but after the second accident.”

“Eyes like tar pits, hair-like bloody cotton candy. The most gorgeous bloke I’d e-ever seen. The perfect frontman.” Murdoc held the bottle in his hands up, looking through the wet glass. “But you were always popular with the ladies, weren’t you?”

Stu listened, dumbstruck. “What are you trying to say you  _ fancy _ me or something? I-is this your sick way of a-askin’ me out?”

The sub gave a sudden, violent banging sound, like metal on metal. It drowned out Murdoc’s dry laugh. “It’s not that simple, D.”

“Don’t. You don’t get to call me that a-anymore,” 2D said after he recovered from the noise. “Y-you’re fuckin’ sick, there’s somethin’ wrong with you!”

Murdoc laughed again. “Never said there wasn’t.” With a sigh, the bassist tossed the bottle aside to join the others littering the sub floor. 2D wasn’t really sure what else to say. They were trapped here, and he would rather not spend the last few hours of his life arguing with Murdoc, of all people. He reached over to one of the half-empty bottles on the floor and opened it, taking a swig. 

“This is insane. You couldn’t, I don’t know, ask me out like a r-regular person?” he asked, hanging his head in his hands.

“Would you have said yes?”

The singer didn’t even have to think. “No, probably.”

“Probably?” Murdoc’s voice was softer now, his head tipped back against the armrest. “Don’t sound too sure.”

Why were they having this conversation  _ now? _ The fact that he might be dead soon gave 2D the courage to answer. “Probably, I dunno. Maybe I f-fancied you back t-then. But that w-was years ago.”

Murdoc was quiet so long that Stu thought he might have passed out. He was about to get up and check--he didn’t really want to die alone--when the bassist spoke. “An’ what about now?”

He wanted to be mad. Really, he did. Maybe the air in the cabin was getting thinner, or maybe the singer was drunker than he thought. Either way, he couldn’t find it in himself to be angry. 

“2D?”

“You kidnapped me. An’ y-you’re keepin’ m-me on this island.” Murdoc peered at him from the captain's chair, watching him speak. “You’re s-sick, completely deranged!”

“S'not a no, mate,” Murdoc said quietly. 2D sighed.

“I'm not talkin’ about this right now.”

“Why not. We'll be dead in an hour or so anyway. Come-on Stu, humour me,” the bassist begged, swivelling his body so 2D could see the pathetic pout on his lips. 

“Sof off,” 2D moaned. Murdoc sighed dramatically and continued to pout. Every couple of seconds, he let out another, prolonged sigh until the singer finally snapped. “God this is s-so  _ like you! _ Draggin’ me to this island, lockin’ me up, trappin’ me in this submarine!”

“ _ I didn’t do this!, _ ” Murdoc snarled. “This was  _ always goin’ to happen!.” _

“Y-you know at one time, I-I really liked you, M-Muds.  _ I trusted you. _ ” Murdoc was breathing heavy through his nose, his anger boiling over, but 2D didn’t back down. “But I’m  _ sick  _ of you abusin’ me and tryin’ to take advantage of me!”

Murdoc growled. “I’m not doin’ shit its--”

“Stoppit Murdoc!” 2D shouted, standing up to loom over the bassist. “You keep sayin’ you’re not the one doin’ it but I think you know, somewhere in that fuckin’ mess you call a brain that you are! You can’t keep livin’ in this fuckin’ la la land! You’re delusional!”

Murdoc didn’t answer, so he continued. “Are there even really people after you, or did you jus’ make that up? And why’d you made  _ it _ look so much like Noo--”

His angry monologue was cut off by a sudden deep banging coming from the outside of the sub. Terror shot through both of them, their imaginations running wild. Murdoc straightened up in his seat quickly, fumbling with the keys in his pocket, though he knew they were out of gas. 

2D shrieked as the banging got louder. It had to be that fucking whale! He couldn’t help but grab onto Murdoc’s shoulder tightly. “M-M-Murdoc what--”

“I-I don’t fuckin’ know!” Murdoc growled in answer, jamming the keys into the ignition. The engine sputtered briefly, then suddenly roared back to life. He was about to step on the gas when a pale figure swam out into view of the front window. “Fucking Hell!”

“Aieeeeeee!” 2D screeched. As the figure got closer, it became clear that it was Cyborg, her skin tinted an eerie green by the seawater. She gestured for them to ascend with a jerky motion, swimming upwards herself. Murdoc, eyes glassy and hands shaky, did so, 2D’s rapid breathing grating against his senses. 

It didn’t take too long for them to breach the surface, the submarine bobbing lazily on the calm sea. 2D started out over the waves with something akin to wonder. As he did, the hatch on the roof sprung open, and Cyborg dropped inside, stalking over to the controls. 

“Sir, please vacate the captain’s seat so that I may pilot us back to base,” she ordered in her monotone, robotic voice. So far from the voice her’s was based on. Murdoc didn’t argue, and he scrambled out of the seat quickly taking his rum with him. 

2D sat back in the co-pilot's seat, still shaking from fear and adrenaline. Going from thinking they were going to die, to listening to Murdoc’s ranting, and then knowing he was going back to Plastic Beach was wreaking havoc on his nerves. Behind him, he heard Murdoc shuffling around drunkenly on one of the cots. Laying down sounded nice, but he was rooted to the spot, eyes darting between Cyborg and the horizon. 

When he saw the silhouette of Plastic Beach breach the horizon he had to blink a few times to make sure  _ he _ wasn’t hallucinating. Cyborg kept a steady pace towards the docks, and before he knew it they’d arrived. To think that just a few hours ago he’d been so excited to go on a “trip” with the bassist. 

“Please exit the vehicle,” Cyborg droned and she activated the hatch release. Finally, 2D felt he could move, and he all but ran to the ladder and hatch. Murdoc was right behind him, climbing the ladder and jumping out onto the dock with drunken fluidity. It was a miracle he didn’t fall into the water. 

“Downstairs,” he ordered. 2D was happy to go back to his prison for once if it meant getting away from the bassist. Unfortunately, Murdoc followed close behind him. 2D paid him no mind and stomped up the beach, into the elevator, and down to his room. He made his way inside and attempted to swing the door shut behind him, but Murdoc stopped it. 

“Why’re you followin’ me?” the singer snapped. Murdoc stood in the doorway, posture defeated. “I don’t wanna deal with you anymore today.”

“2D…” Murdoc sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Are you hungry? I could get Cyborg to--”

“JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!” Stu screamed, whipping around and stalking toward the other man. With significant strength he pushed Murdoc backward through the door, letting it slam closed. The bassist didn’t have time to react, not that he was sure what he would do if he had the chance. On the other side of the door, 2D slumped down to the floor, sobbing. Today had been too much. 

Murdoc stood outside Stu’s room for a long time, idling and drinking from the bottle he’d brought back from the sub. He could hear 2D crying, though he could hear that most times, so he wasn’t sure if he was really hearing it or not. What did the singer want him to do? Murdoc stared down at the bottle in his hands helplessly. He hated feeling helpless or powerless, it made him unbelievably angry. With a growl and a shout, he swung the bottle against the wall, the tinkle of shattering glass doing nothing to ease his rage. 

“Fuck you!” he shouted at the closed door before stomping away and into the elevator. He didn’t need this shit. Stu just didn’t understand, that was all. No one understood; Murdoc might as well be alone in the ocean. Set adrift on a slowly sinking submarine, doomed from the start.


End file.
